Breathless (The Game 3)

He’d made his decision. He was just rummaging through his brain for any alternatives before he gave me his answer.

“All right…” He came to a stand right before me and lifted his gaze to my chest. “He’s a technical fighter like you.”

Unlike River. If he wanted to defeat someone, he needed to observe his target for a while.

He read people. I dealt with them.

“This isn’t a case, Riv,” I murmured. Because I could see his dissatisfaction about the whole thing. When we turned forty last year, we’d retired from the private sector as we’d promised each other. Now this, our community, this kink haven, the house, was our home and source of income. We’d made it out alive, we were pretty set financially and didn’t have to touch our savings, and he was worried we were sliding back and tempting fate. “Hey. Look at me.”

He glanced up, expression open and hesitant, something he never showed anyone else.

“This isn’t a case,” I repeated. “We’re helping a member of our community.”

“With some controversial methods that we haven’t used since we were in the field.”

I smiled a little. “Controversial methods are what we do best.”

His mouth twitched, and I grinned before he narrowed his eyes at me.

“Don’t pretend to be pissy.” I chuckled and leaned forward, resting our foreheads together. “You on board?”

He sighed. “You know I am.”

There we go.TwoShay ActonShe would’ve turned ten today…

This day was going to suck.

I scrubbed my hands over my face. Aunt Mel was preparing breakfast downstairs, judging by the sound of cupboards opening and closing. The TV was on in the room next to mine, which meant my brothers were awake.

Should I remind them? Or leave them be and think it was an ordinary Friday in the last couple weeks of their summer break.

At the sound of a knock on the door, I forced myself to sit up. “Yeah?”

TJ opened the door and poked his head in. “You’re awake.” He flashed a dopey grin. “We’re going out soon, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” I cleared my throat from sleep and planted my feet on the floor. “I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast.”

“Okay, cool.” He closed the door again.

I released a breath. He probably didn’t remember it was Myah’s birthday. When I was thirteen, I definitely didn’t pay attention to family members’ birthdays. Levi could be the exception. He was only eleven, but he’d remembered the date last year.

After pulling on a pair of jeans and a tee, I made sure I had all my belongings in my overnight bag. Then I left the guest room and ducked into the bathroom to take a leak and make sure I looked human.

TJ got to pick our last activity a week ago, so it was Levi’s turn today. We’d probably go to a museum. He was the family’s own little genius, and his most recent obsession revolved around mapping out our family tree. It combined his loves for history, religion, and analyzing data.

Whenever I came over here to Aunt Mel’s, Levi had something new to share, be it about his paternal grandmother who’d come here from a Japan in shambles, his great-great-grandfather who’d fled slavery in the South, or his grandfather’s mother who had escaped Poland during the war. My mother’s second husband, Terrell, came from a long line of people who knew what running for your life meant. It was why they’d dedicated their lives to serving their communities and accepting as many as possible.

Terrell’s family had taken in my mom and me with open arms. I’d been a cocky five-year-old with anger issues. Dad—Terrell—had taught me how to channel it, how to express it, and eventually, how to get rid of it through martial arts.

Now the family was near extinction because I hadn’t been fast enough or screamed loudly enough or…whatever.

I splashed some cold water on my face, then gripped the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection, barely recognizing the man I’d become. Hardened, apathetic, devoid of warmth.

“My sweet boy. Did you know your eyes were made of fairy tales?”

I closed my eyes, seeing my mom before me. Her matching teal eyes and dirty-blond hair.

What the fuck was even teal? I wouldn’t have known the word existed if my mother hadn’t used it every time she’d put me to bed when I was little. I’d been her happy accident when she was too young, her sweet boy with the fairy-tale eyes, her biggest reason to fight and make something of herself.

I released a breath and reached for a towel to dry my face. It was Friday, my day with my brothers. We’d go to some museum, we’d eat junk food, and we’d have a good time.

A glance at my phone told me it was almost nine o’clock. Opening the door, I was met by the smell of bacon. Nine o’clock. So, nine hours. I could put a smile on my face for nine hours. Tonight I’d return to my search. Some chick I’d been talking to online said the party tonight would be packed with Sadists.